


see the glint of a storm

by Liber (Liberalia)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alpha Thirteenth Doctor, Alpha/Omega, F/M, Honour Bondage, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, More control issues than the Fortean Times, Omegaverse, Other, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, They’re actually somewhat pleasant to each other in this one?, They’re both switches but loathe admitting it, Traps as foreplay, a touch of, due to the nature of the trope, escaping from traps as consent, the feelings are ridiculous but so are they, while still being very bitchy you understand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liberalia/pseuds/Liber
Summary: But the Master wanted more than the dull acquiescence of ‘oh, well, he’s there, might as well make do’.He’dcourtedthe Doctor when he’d been an Alpha, for goodness’s sake.He wasn’t having her only accepting him because she was out of her head on hormones either. No, after what the Doctor had said to him on Gallifrey, she was going to have toask. Nicely.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! So, here's some...New Year's Day porn??* 
> 
> Or some 'the author just realised that anything involving the Doctor's escape from prison was about to be rendered wildly out-of-date, and tried to finish this in a panic' porn, anyway.
> 
> *no New Year's Day content found, just filth.
> 
> You scare me  
> I see the glint of a storm  
> But you never come through  
> I wish you'd just show me, and drop the other shoe  
> And move on, 'cause I've got work to do.  
> -Exit Wounds, by The Romanovs.

“I’m still suspicious of your motives,” the Doctor said, propped against the console, not-quite managing to conceal her weariness, eyes glittering feverishly in her pale face as she watched him.

“Mmm,” the Master agreed, rather than asking: ‘And how are you supposed to kill us both in prison?’

Admittedly, with her here (and now that the initial emotional turmoil was beginning to fade), he was starting to wonder how married he was to that idea.

“Well,” she said, eyeing him warily, “I’m going to clean up and go to bed.”

Watching the Doctor leave (hopefully to wash some of the grease out of her hair - did the Judoon feel cleanliness was a luxury of which the imprisoned were underserving?) the Master felt an odd impulse to follow her, to bury his face in her neck, and, and…

He shook it off, scrubbing a hand over his face. _Get a grip._

* * *

Four days later, the Doctor was still asleep. The Master lingered in the doorway to her room, having come to check she hadn’t suddenly dropped dead due to some unexpectedly effective anti-escape tech - and was now finding himself strangely reluctant to leave. In fact, it was taking a certain amount of effort to not go into the room and lie down next to her, feel her warmth and breathe her familiar smell.

Why was he…? He inhaled deeply, this time paying proper attention to the scents around him.

The realisation came over him slowly and unpleasantly, like a cold sweat: The Doctor was presenting, and she was an Alpha. At least that explained the somnolence - her body was preparing itself.

Really, he should’ve known - the instant (if veiled) aggression whenever she was crossed; the way she shielded her ‘friends’ with her body, all but wrapping them in cotton wool (he’d even watched her take a bomb blast for them); the reflexive baring of her teeth in threat - all dead giveaways.

Damn it!

The Master slammed his hand into the doorframe in exasperation. He was going to have to change his plans. If the Doctor was generally patronising, overbearing, and appallingly willing to forgive the unforgivable, the Doctor as an Alpha was all of those things taken to unendurable heights.

It wasn’t like the Master didn’t know how it felt, of course - just _look_ at what a show he’d made of himself last body. Dropping armies at the Doctor’s feet as courting gifts, only to be humiliatingly rejected. Shameful public admissions of longing, submitting to being locked up for decades, even being willing to kill his own past self to return to the Doctor’s side - all for the faint hope that they might one day be wooed back into his arms. That driving need to caretake, to please and to protect.

Given that humiliating example, the Master doubted that he would be able to drive the Doctor into such a rage that it would overwhelm her instincts long enough for her to kill him. Her brain would slot him in as: _Mate; to be protected_ , just as his own had done last time around, and wouldn’t be moved however hard either of them tried (again, like last time around).

It probably said something about their mutual irrationality that the closest they’d ever managedto come to actually killing each other had been back when the Master had been possessing an alien body that had no designation to meddle with their heads. And they’d _still_ failed.

He needed some of that old Doctorly willingness to stand around watching him burn to death despite his pleas for mercy, that was what he needed.

The Master missed being a Beta. You could be _rational_ as a Beta. Indeed, right now he even missed the _Doctor_ being a Beta - it would make her more detached, and hence more murderous.

But the most infuriating part of all was that this might be his fault. He’d been hanging around her and she was presenting, probably in reaction. Thinking back, he’d smelt her scent starting to shift after the first time he’d seen her in person, and she was only presenting now after further contact. For all he knew, if she hadn’t been exposed to his pheromones she might’ve ended up as a Beta, and there wouldn’t be a problem.

She’d be going into rut soon, her first in this body - and so quite ruthless. Knowing the Doctor, given her choice she’d spend it locked up in her room, desperate, feverishly miserable, and quite alone.

While the Master was going out of his mind somewhere else.

That thought: That the Doctor would be going into rut soon, kept rattling around inside the Master’s head for the rest of the day. If she wouldn’t give him what he wanted re. being murdered, shouldn’t he be able to have this?

The Master felt oddly hesitant about the idea, uncomfortably aware that he might be starting to realise why the Doctor had been so…withholding, last time around. The Master felt like he’d been _peeled;_ terrifyingly vulnerable, all the emotions that had been so easy to repress until he felt like dealing with them (never) bubbling up continuously, demanding attention.

Though that might just be the Doctor’s fault as well, forcing him to get in touch with his feelings last time around, and nothing to do with this new body. He didn’t remember being an Omega feeling like this before, but then it _had_ been a while. And he and the Doctor had been on slightly better terms back then.

Spending a heat with her, only to have her climb back off to the moral high ground to look down on him again, would be…distressing. On the other hand, it might make her a little easier to deal with in the future. And, judging by prior experience, it would be inevitable anyway, so why not get it over with?

If the Master wanted to make sure nothing happened, he should wake the Doctor up, boot her off his Tardis, and take a lot of suppressants. If he didn’t…he should still wake her up and make her eat. She’d need the sustenance.

Still undecided, the Master went to rouse the Doctor. It took quite some doing.

“Uuuuh!” The Doctor groaned as the Master shook her determinedly. “Nooo.” She rolled away from him, growling softly.

“Wake up!” The Master leant further over the bed, reaching out to push her to the floor - and sprung her trap. He yelped as she dragged him on to the bed, before draping herself heavily on top of him. Her weight and heat and scent were… The Master arched a little before he could stop himself.

“Y’goto sleep s'well,” the Doctor slurred, mashing her face against the Master’s collarbone, before tensing a little and making a quiet, inquiring sound, twisting to press her face into his neck.

“Smells nice,” the Doctor declared intelligently, her breath coming in warm huffs against his rapidly sensitising skin as she nuzzled her way up his neck, making a frustrated sound when she couldn’t quite reach his mating gland.

Squirming further up him, rubbing their bodies shamelessly together and sending sharp jolts down the Master’s nerves, she nudged at his jaw. His head immediately tipped to the side to give the Doctor better access, without any input from his brain whatsoever.

Giving a soft, pleased chirp, the Doctor wiggled excitedly against him, grinding down a little, and licked a hot stripe up from the base of his neck to his gland, before lapping at it gently, giving a soft moan. Her scent intensified dizzyingly, the Master’s mouth opening to take it in better.

Heat rushed through him, and the Master restrained the instinct to either squirm impatiently until she went further, or to obediently go to sleep pinned under her until the Doctor had finished preparing for her rut and could take care of him properly.

Tempting as both options were, they only had one ending - and they weren’t worth the grief of (doubtless) being blamed for taking advantage. The Doctor was now sucking gently on his mating gland - and it was beginning to swell, nudging him steadily towards a heat, his body responding helplessly. The Master could feel how hard she already was for him.

Carefully, the Master twisted to throw her off, and the Doctor growled irritably, pressing his wrists - when had she pinned his wrists? - harder into the bed, and nipping his gland in reproof. Pleasure shocked through him, and for a half-second instinct took over and he went obediently limp. The Doctor purred in approval, the sound rolling through his body straight to his groin, and pressed her thigh between his legs in reward. The Master shuddered, a sound rising in his throat.

Then he sighed in exasperation. Twisting out of the grip she’d unwisely loosened at his apparent submissiveness, he flipped them over and caught her before she could grab him again, his fingers digging hard into immobilising pressure points. In this state, she would need firm handling.

“I came to ask if you wanted breakfast,” the Master said. “I take it this is a no?”

The Doctor struggled vigorously, baring her teeth in annoyance, before the clouds of sleep cleared from her eyes, rationality returning, and she seemed to reconsider.

“What is it?”

“Human food. A fry-up.” He’d got a taste for it in his exile.

“…I am hungry,” the Doctor admitted, and let out an indignant sound when the Master rolled off her and away, deftly avoiding her grasping hands.

* * *

Breakfast was awkward. The Doctor arrived wet-haired, as if from a cold shower, and spent most of it staring intently at her plate, barely talking, as if fried bread, eggs and baked beans might contain the secrets of her forgotten past.

Or Alpha suppressants.

Even so, by the time it was over the Master had made up his mind. He was going to gamble. Possibly he had decided this because he was hormonally compromised and would have to go through a heat now anyway - considering the way she had rubbed herself all over him earlier - but decided he had.

After the Doctor had fled, muttering something about wanting to have a proper bath, not just a shower (was she trying to wash his scent off her?), the Master settled down to plan. He’d have to move quickly - he was on a time limit.

Soon, he had settled it to his satisfaction. The fact that the Doctor hadn’t left already was an answer in and of itself, of course. He’d made sure the route to the kitchen went past his teleportation devices, and there was no way she could be unaware she was about to go into rut.

But the Master wanted more than the dull acquiescence of ‘oh, well, he’s there, might as well make do’.

He’d _courted_ the Doctor when he’d been an Alpha, for fuck’s sake.

He wasn’t having her only accepting him because she was out of her head on hormones either. No, after what the Doctor had said to him on Gallifrey, she was going to have to _ask_. _Nicely._ And put some actual effort in.

Right. Step one.

He took a double dose of the strongest suppressants he had on hand, and went to the Doctor’s room.

She was sitting cross-legged on the purple sofa, all clean and pink from her bath. Even from here, he could tell she’d scrubbed him off her with extreme prejudice.She’d also changed into an approximation of her normal clothes, almost as if she was intending to leave. When he entered the room, her feet thudded onto the floor, eyes glazing slightly at the sight of him.

“Brought you some painkillers, and tea to take them with,” he announced, setting the tray down on the bedside table. “I remember how bad the headaches can get.”

“I imagine you’re going to tell me you have no Alpha suppressants?” The Doctor asked sarcastically, ignoring the unsubtle reference to his time in the Vault.

He scanned her intently. No flush, no erection, scent not too strong yet. He’d arrived in time - she was still lucid. That wouldn’t last long now he was here, so he’d better work quickly.

“I just got this Tardis. It only has things I actually _need_ on board.”

She took a sharp breath, eyes widening and locking on his, body straightening, and he realised how that must have sounded, in the Doctor’s current heated state. No-one easier to seduce than an Alpha on the cusp of rut - everything sounded like an innuendo.

But then the Doctor's eyes dropped, lips thinning and face shutting down, that eager intensity gone as if it had never been. “You’d better go and take yours, then. No point in you being miserable as well.”

Was that the flat rejection it sounded like, or was the Doctor being deliberately obtuse to try and draw him out? Was she trying the same thing he was? If the Doctor thought she could make him beg for her, she could go ahead and _be_ miserable by herself. He’d survive. He always _did._

“With you right here? And your scent all over the place? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ll go into heat. No point wasting my time with the drugs.”

The Doctor twitched, gaze flicking back to his, pupils wide and nostrils flaring, but her lips firmed again and she said nothing, even in response to this embarrassingly unsubtle come-on.

The Master had come as close to asking for it as he was willing to. If the Doctor _wanted_ to be miserable rather than have him, he could at least make sure she would suffer as much as possible - make sure that she would inhale his scent throughout her rut, that she wouldn’t be able to forget he’d been there.

Strolling across the room, the Master sat down next to her, his knee pressing against the Doctor’s thigh due to the way her legs were sprawled open, taking up half the sofa (typical Alpha).

The Doctor startled at the touch and twisted to face him, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

The Master stared at her incredulously. For such a brilliant mind, sometimes the Doctor really was impressively dim. “What do you think?” As a tactile aid, he put his hand on her thigh and squeezed.

She inched slightly closer. “All right, wrong question - _why_ are you doing this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He asked, giving her the eye.

The low neck of her top did nothing to conceal the growing flush on her neck, quickly spreading down to her chest, nor did - the Master glanced down - the loose trousers she wore do much to disguise the beginnings of her erection. Following his gaze, the Doctor hissed in a breath, looking almost ashamed.

Sliding his hand slowly up her thigh, giving her plenty of time to stop him, the Master carefully scraped his fingernails over the ridge. The Doctor shuddered, the bulge under his fingers growing noticeably as he kept going, moving slowly up and down the shaft, scratching her gently through the fabric.

The Doctor shook her head as if snapping herself out of a trance. “Stop that,” she said irritably, grabbing his hand and holding it still.

“We’re not doing this.” The Doctor rubbed his palm with her thumb as she spoke, little swirling circles against the sensitive skin. It went straight to his groin, and the Master knew he was getting hard as well - never mind wet, which had been a lost cause from the moment the he’d entered the room, breathed her in, and seen the dazed look in her eyes.

“It would be an appalling idea…” The Doctor inhaled sharply, scenting his growing arousal. Her pupils widened, a dark spot appearing on her trousers from the pre-cum soaking through the fabric. The Master’s mouth watered, and he swayed closer.

Screwing her eyes shut, the Doctor said firmly, “You were just trying to get me to kill us both.”

Her hand shook where it gripped his, so close to the growing tent in her trousers that the Master could feel the heat on his skin. He had the absurd thought that her cock was trying to get back to his hand, and nearly laughed. Then the Doctor’s hand wavered further, brushing his palm against her hard-on, eager heat soaking through the thin fabric to touch his skin.

The Doctor groaned softly, starting to rub the Master’s palm against her, slow and firm, hips rocking into the pressure.

“You’d better leave, before I get too…” The Doctor trailed off, eyes glazing over, apparently completely unaware that she was using his hand to pleasure herself.

“Mm _hmm_ ,” the Master said, fascinated, watching their joined hands move.

“And I said, stop doing that!” The Doctor snapped, opening her eyes to glare at the Master indignantly. Gaze meeting his, she clearly lost her train of thought - she leant forward slightly, lips parting as she breathed in his scent, moving his hand faster, harder.

“I will when you give me my hand back,” the Master said, breathless but amused.

She frowned, and looked down.

“Oh, right, yes!” The Doctor said, flushing as if embarrassed.

Her hand flexed on his, rearranging - but didn’t let go. Instead, the Doctor kept the Master’s palm firmly pressed against her, staring down at their interlaced fingers, mouth hanging open a little as she panted softly. He could feel the ridge at the base already swelling slightly, getting ready for him.

“You have to go,” she said firmly, as if reminding herself. Her fingers loosened on his, then tightened again. She swallowed audibly.

After a moment, the Master tugged, jolting a gasp out of her at the friction. And then again, and again, more firmly, getting tiny sounds out of her each time, twisting until the Doctor finally let him go. (He might’ve been dragging it out a _little_ bit more than necessary, but who could blame him?) 

Returning his attention to his own body for a moment, the Master found he was already aching, temperature rising rapidly despite the unhealthy strength of what he’d taken (he hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that there was nothing that would hold off his heat with her so near).

Time for step two, before he became too compromised to remember the plan.

Unwisely, the Master glanced towards the door, both telegraphing his intent and momentarily taking his eyes off the Doctor.

Instantly, she pounced, yanking him into her lap in a sharp rush of motion before he could remember he was supposed to be fending her off - and then the Doctor was winding her arms around him, one hand somehow already under his jacket, stroking down his back, the other curling in his hair, and- and gently pulling his head back, she was pressing her face into his neck and _licking,_ right _there,_ yes, yes, _yes,_ more, perfect (wait, no, _plan-_ ).

“I…this is a terrible idea,” the Doctor said into his skin, rocking against him gently. “We shouldn’t…” She pulled the Master closer still, squirming, her scent strengthening deliciously. Her breath was ragged on his neck, her dick hard and perfect against his thigh, and the Master _needed_ to spread his legs for her, he _ached._ If they hurried, the Doctor could be inside him in less than a minute.

And judging by her behaviour so far, she would probably tell him how awful it was that she was deigning to fuck him throughout, just to add a little extra spice to the occasion.

Briskly disentangling them (he got away with insulting ease), the Master forced himself to his feet, wincing in discomfort at the pull in his groin.

The Doctor tracked his movement, confusion clear on her face. “Where are you going?”

“Leaving, like you told me.” The Master emphasised latter half of the phrase. That little thread of willing submission to her would do wonders.

“No, don’t, I-!”

Breathing through the silky-hot caress of compulsion in the Doctor’s command, the Master continued to the door.

Leaning in the doorway, one hand on the frame (posing rather), the Master told her, “No, you’re right - we really shouldn’t. Not when you’re so much _more_ than me.“ The Master bit his tongue in irritation at that last, bitter statement. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. Clearly he was leaving none too soon if he was already getting emotional.

The Doctor frowned. “I-“

Ignoring both her voice and his instincts, suppressing the awful ache growing inside him as the Doctor’s scent grew stronger and stronger with her agitation, the Master continued with his planned speech.

“I’ll lock you safely away in here, so you don’t end up doing anything you don’t want,” he said, tone laden with faux reassurance.

“But-!“

Oh, the look on her face!

The Master grinned. “I modelled the encryption on the Vault - with a few improvements, of course. Your programming never was what it should’ve been. There’s supplies in that cupboard over there, and I’ll let you out once we’re both rational again!” He finished triumphantly, backing quickly out of the room.

She clearly hadn’t really believed the Master would leave. Scrambling to her feet at last and hurrying towards him - too late! - the Doctor said, “No, _wait_ , you don’t _-“_

The Master shivered convulsively, shaking off the wave of compulsion - it had real teeth that time - and shut the door before the Doctor could reach him; before his will could break.

Holding the handle still against her attempts to turn it, the Master locked it with a press of his thumb, ignoring the persistent thumping on the other side.

He returned to his own room, carefully blocking out the sound of the Doctor’s voice reverberating down the hallway after him, richly laced with compulsion, insisting that the Master _come back here now._ No Alpha took being walked away from gracefully at the best of times - it hammered on all their little chase-hunt-catch-subdue buttons.

It was an excellent test, really. If the Doctor was compos mentis enough to break the encryption on the lock and dodge the traps on the way to his room, she was lucid enough to decide if she really wanted to come after him. …And if she chose not to (or couldn’t), the thought of the Master in heat so nearby, yet unreachable, would be a nigh-unbearable torment either way, once she really got going.

It would be very nearly as unpleasant for him, of course, but that really wasn’t the point of the exercise.

And the Master was damned if he was going to let her have him for the first time in this body in a _guest bedroom_. His own bed or nothing. He had standards, after all - and for once was actually in a position to enforce them.

He flopped onto the cool duvet, skin starting to burn, sweat dampening his skin. Taking another dose of suppressant, he shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat and cast them aside - but forced himself to leave the shirt on. The Master fully intended to be the one in control at first, even if that wouldn’t be possible later - and that would be hard to achieve if he was already naked when (if) the Doctor showed up.

After the first few minutes, the Master managed to spot the fatal flaw in a plan that left him waiting, desperate, for the Doctor to _maybe_ turn up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're like the goddamn rain  
> That threatens this place, but  
> Very rarely comes

Half an hour later, the Master stopped pacing (when had he started pacing?), and dragged his hands through his hair.

She wasn’t coming. It was all for nothing, and this heat was going to be awful with the Doctor’s scent all over him, knowing he could’ve had her if he’d only stayed in her room - but he just _had_ to overreach as usual, didn’t he. Wanted her to not only decide she wanted him, but have to work to get him.

Pain twisted inside him as if in confirmation, and the Master moaned in discomfort. No point in being stoic when there was no-one to hear him, was there?

“Master?” The Doctor’s voice rang through the door, and the Master was overcome with a wave of utter, humiliating relief. She was here. And clearly willing to be at least somewhat conciliatory.

The Master forced his fingers off the button that unlocked his bedroom door, firmly reminding himself that he wasn’t going to let the Doctor at him just because she said his name. Though it was a start.

“What? Did you want something? Run out of tea, perhaps?”

There was a loud sigh from the other side of the door, along with a faint thump, as if she’d let her head drop against it. “You know why I’m here.” The Doctor’s voice was admirably calm, but the Master could hear her panting, even through the thick wood.

“Please elaborate,” he answered, activating his respiratory bypass so as not to pant right back.

“If you still want m- this, could you let me in?” Her voice shook a little with the effort of holding back her Alpha compulsion. It was a little irritating - was she implying he wasn’t strong enough to resist? 

And she was _still_ making it all about him wanting it more than her. Typical.

“Bit more?”

“Master, please.”

Better. But still not great. Definitely some gritted teeth audible there.

_Come on. Just admit you want me. It probably won’t kill you. I’ll even give you getting past the traps as ‘making an effort’._

“‘Master, please’ what - and why?”

“Open the door.” The Doctor was sounding steadily less rational, a distinct growl creeping into her every word, her compulsion hitting him hard. “Because I want it, and you want it too. I can smell you from here.”

Well, it wasn’t dinner - but he could make do. He was not an altogether unreasonable being. He knocked back another dose of suppressant.

But it wouldn’t do to let her think he’d acquiesced because she’d commanded him.

“That’s good to know! You can leave now.” The Master was aiming for coolly dismissive, and was unsure how well he had managed.

But it proved - as he had hoped - to be the last straw for the Doctor’s self-control. He heard the faint sound of feet backing up in the hall, and pressed the button, soundlessly disengaging the door lock.

The Doctor barged through the now-unlocked door, going too fast to slow down. For a moment, it seemed like she would be able to save herself without incident. Then the Doctor’s feet found the final trap - a decorative rug.

The skidding, slow-motion fall that followed was truly impressive, even to an experienced connoisseur like the Master.

Sincerely moved by the performance, the Master whooped and clapped throughout. He ended up leaning off the bed, grinning down into the Doctor’s angry face where she lay, breathing hard, on the rug, having rapidly traversed twenty feet of polished floor.

“Well done ending up by the bed,” the Master congratulated her, briefly distracted from the matter at hand. “I haven’t seen such an impressive pratfall in years!”

She’d always been an impressive prat, of course.

Her answering snarl wasn’t _quite_ as impressive, but it was well on the way there. Hairs on the nape of his neck rising, the Master shivered in pleasurable fear/excitement. Watching the Doctor lose it on his account was always a pleasure (when he was reasonably sure she couldn’t wreak hideous vengeance on him, that was).

Standing to her full height (which was probably less effective for her in this body), the Doctor pointed at him menacingly. “You. Stay there.”

The Master nodded politely, and got off the bed the minute her back was turned. If he was too obedient, she would only get suspicious. He watched with interest, as she marched all the way back to the door to lock it with her sonic. Pointlessly, because there was no-one else on the Tardis (the tone of the sonic shifted) and they could both open it any time they-

He heard the faint, sad sound of electronics dying, and there was, bizarrely, a puff of smoke. She had quite deliberately vandalised his bedroom door, and it would take ages for him to get it open again.

Normally he would’ve been livid, but now the Master experienced a near-euphoric sense of relief. Here they were, locked in together - by the Doctor’s own hand no less. It was a good omen.

Clearly, it was time for step three.

* * *

Which turned out to be slightly more of a challenge, what with the Doctor backing him up against one of the bedposts, her eyes dark and intent. Pressing him firmly in place, she took his face in her hands and kissed him gently yet irresistibly, her thigh sliding between his legs and making thinking near-impossible.

‘I’ll give her a minute before I take back control,’ the Master told himself - and kept telling himself, as the Doctor slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid a hand down his stomach, hips moving back justfar enough for her to get at the fastening of his trousers, her mouth never leaving his for a second. There was a small possibility that one of them (him) might have been whimpering. 

Mostly because the Doctor tasted absolutely, overwhelmingly perfect - and of course that was what the Master’s brain was telling him. They’d been mated, once, and his body was always desperately trying to restart that bond, hardwired to always prefer her scent over any other.

How many other mates had the Doctor had, down the years?

The thought sent a wave of distress through him, and the Master’s scent must have changed accordingly: the Doctor made a concerned sound, rubbing her cheek against his neck soothingly, because her instincts demanded it of her.

“I’ve got you,” the Doctor said in his ear, voice far too warm.

She kissed his jaw, her arms tightening around him reassuringly - and the Master _hated_ that this was what he needed now. Hated the way he instantly calmed, body relaxing bonelessly at the feeling of the Doctor pressed hard against him, at feeling the strength of her grip, like nothing could tear her away.

All an illusion, of course - but a pretty one, to be sure.

Besides, it was past time to get back to the plan.

Deliberately, the Master let himself relax further into the Doctor, allowing her to take his weight, his body completely pliant in her tight (perfect) grip - which didn’t loosen at all. So she had been paying attention.

Holding him down, she bit him firmly, so, _so_ close to where he needed it. The Master’s muscles went rigid, trembling with the effort of not arching his neck until the Doctor’s mouth was where he wanted it, and _begging-._

But he needed to keep control. “No biting,” the Master ground out. The second she bit him, he’d be a mess, mind empty of everything but her. More so than now, even.

“What? Why not?” The Doctor drew back _(don’t whine, don’t grab for her,_ she’s _keeping a handle on herself),_ and frowned at him, clearly baffled by this role-reversal.

“You want to go first or something?” She raised her eyebrows sardonically.

“I…later,” the Master promised, unusually sincere. “Later.”

Expression puzzled, the Doctor sat on the bed and kicked her boots off. One of them landed on her coat, lying on the floor nearby, and the Master realised he honestly had no idea when it'd come off or who had done the honours. Hormones really were a trip and a half.

Her top landed balled up on top of the boot, anti-grav bra tangled up inside.

“Come here,” the Doctor told him commandingly, her compulsion tugging and stroking at his every nerve as she held out her hand. It did interesting things to her breasts, which were now extremely visible, and he could…

 _Plan_ , the Master reminded himself, and locked his knees so he didn’t move. “Hands,” he told her.

“What? Really? _Now?_ Are you sure? _”_ She looked him up and down meaningfully, and he _really_ didn’t want to think about what a wreck he must look right now.

The Master folded his arms, (partly to disguise the way his hands were shaking), and firmly repeated, “Hands.”

She rolled her eyes, yanked off her trousers and boxers - and threw them at him. He dodged too late, and they hit him squarely in the face - partly obscuring the sight of the Doctor scrambling up the bed in an ungraceful caterpillar-like motion and wrapping her hands around the bedstead (tasteful yet intricate, with lots of good handholds).

“Happy now?” This sally came accompanied with another eye roll of derision, as if the Doctor was worried he might not’ve caught the first one. Her legs spread wider in jerky, unconscious-looking movements as the Master stripped quickly and efficiently - he no longer had the patience for a proper performance - and followed her onto the bed.

“Thrilled,” the Master hummed, kneeling in the offered space. The Doctor gasped and twitched a little when his knees brushed her inner thighs. He assessed her expression, and decided to hurry - judging by the feral gleam in her eyes, the window in which she would be willing to go along with his plan was narrowing rapidly. A real shame; he’d been looking forward to teasing her.

At least he didn’t have to worry about lube - the Master was, quite literally, producing enough for both of them.

Pressing a finger inside first himself, then her, the Master found that the Doctor was aroused enough not to need any more prep, despite the fact that this wasn’t the kind of sex her body had been readying for. So he quickly added another two, just for the hell of it, his own cunt aching in sympathy, desperate for any sensation.

The Doctor’s hips shifted impatiently, and she huffed, “Hurry _up-“_ \- he curled his fingers, rubbing insistently - _“-Master!”_

Ah, there went the prostate! He grinned down at her, setting his thumb to rubbing at her clit at the same speed. She made small, bitten-off sounds, thighs trembling and cock leaking onto her stomach. As her body wound up tighter and tighter, little burning flickers of her pleasure started to reach him: her mental shields beginning to break down as she slid deeper into her rut.

Briskly, the Master removed his fingers (the Doctor made a lovely sound of protest, knuckles going white around the bed frame), and slicked his cock with, well, his slick, making rather more of a production of it than was strictly necessary.

The Doctor, having apparently finally been driven to the state where she could no longer feign detachment (the Master’s favourite of all the Doctor’s possible states), watched, rapt, mouth hanging slightly open and eyes gone glassy with lust.

It was altogether satisfying - just how he’d hoped.

When the Master finally settled his body over hers and slid inside her, rubbing her clit gently, the Doctor’s head dropped back, showing off her mating gland, all flushed and ready for him - and she was clenching around him eagerly, hot little jolts of her pleasure going through him whenever he moved, and she tasted glorious, and, and-He dragged his mouth away from her gland, ignoring her confused sound.

Pushing himself up and avoiding the Doctor’s eyes (she was giving him a ‘have you lost your mind: more/again?’ look), he double-reinforced his mental shields and rearranged their bodies, kneeling and lifting her bottom onto his thighs. In this position, it would be a lot harder for him to bite her by accident. Or for her to bite him at all.

Judging by the set of the Doctor’s mouth, she had worked this out. “What are you-“

He lined them up and pressed into her before she could finish her question, making sure he would hit her at the right angle.

As the Master rocked into her again, setting up a rhythm, the Doctor started whining, a sound caught between pleasure and desperate frustration. The bed frame gave an unhappy creak, the metal deforming a little from her grip.

“Oh, all right,” the Master said, and wrapped a hand around her cock, hand moving in time with his thrusts. The Doctor’s head dropped back further, body arching and eyes sliding closed, mouth still open. She looked completely overwhelmed, like she was thinking of nothing but what the Master was doing to her - which probably meant that she was cooking up a way to humiliate him later.

The Doctor came quick and easy, cock pulsing in time with her cunt clenching around him, the scent rolling off her intensifying to the point where he found himself leaning down to bite her without really noticing it. The Master straightened hastily, pressing her back into the bed when she tried to follow him up, eyes locked on his own neck.

“Wait-“

“No! _Now,”_ the Doctor demanded, pulling him down towards her determinedly, one hand wrapped tightly around his neck to show she meant business, her thumb firm on his mating gland. He came on the spot, gasping her name needily, and her hand loosened just enough for him to straighten as he recovered, panting.

Judging by the stern look in the Doctor’s eyes, her tolerance for his nonsense was at an end, and there was no way to put off the inevitable: i.e., the Master spending the next three days on his back, getting railed, with no way to control himself or her. He was practically vibrating with shameful anticipation already- Hang on, there was _one_ thing that would work… Sliding down the bed, the Master bent over her still-hard cock, and licked, extravagantly. She made a breathless, eager sound, fingers suddenly tight in his hair.

“Hands,” the Master said, stilling, his breath sighing over the head of her, sending more precome dripping on to her stomach. He never could resist pushing his luck.

She glared. He glared. She pulled his hair, sending pleasure lancing through him, and he wavered - but didn’t fold. Growling, the Doctor returned her hands to the bar.

The Master beamed triumphantly, mouth _just_ brushing her dick, and she hissed, “Get on with it then!”

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” the Master told her, entirely truthfully, sliding it into his mouth and sucking with slightly more enthusiasm than he’d intended: she tasted _amazing,_ almost enough to make him change his mind about what he was doing.

The Doctor achieved the rarely before seen ‘intensely-suspicious/nigh-catatonic-with-pleasure’ facial expression combo.

“Don’t you-“ the Doctor made some incoherent half-words as the Master took her further, and this was actually _very_ satisfying, especially the way she was wriggling around with the effort of not thrusting into his mouth. 

“Don’t you, you want, ah, mmm,” she gestured, as much as it was possible to gesture with your hands white-knuckling around a bedstead (mainly elbow work), “want me-“

“You inside me?” The Master asked, pulling off. “Somewhere _else,_ that is?” He swallowed a whine of need at the thought, grinding against the bed, and licked his lips ostentatiously. The Doctor shuddered, hips lifting. “In a minute, perhaps.”

The Doctor squinted at him at that, face crinkling with indignation as she accused, “You’ve taken suppressants.”

“Mmm. And they’re going to wear off soon, so if you don’t _mind.”_

The Master took her back in his mouth, applying himself more intensely. If the Doctor was able to pay attention to what was going on, he wasn’t trying hard enough.

Once the Doctor’s eyes had rolled back in her head, the Master carefully squeezed with both hands around the base of her dick, in time with the movement of his mouth as he took her steadily deeper. Luckily, the Doctor was too far gone to notice what he was doing, her knot swelling steadily against the pressure of his hands.

He gave a final, demanding squeeze, swallowing around her, and she came with a very gratifying cry of his name, knot completing in his firm grip as she shuddered, hips pressing hard against his elbows as she tried to thrust.

He pulled off hastily. Swallowing when your partner was in rut was a losing proposition - you might drown.

“You made me knot,” she panted accusingly, face flushed a pretty pink.

The Master was feeling uncomfortably hot. He’d just taken a dose of her hormones, his own were now demanding he oblige them, and without his plan to focus on his heat was rising in him like a tide. 

“I know,” he said, “I was there.” He petted her dick illustratively.

She shuddered convulsively, coming again with an eager groan, and, oh, it had actually reached her tits that time - which was more erotic than it had any right to be…and he needed her inside him _right now._

He moaned, hunching over a little as the cramps started to really hit. He’d taken it a bit too far this time. Such a pity - he'd wanted to use his mouth on her cunt while he was still lucid enough to memorise the sounds she made.

“Hoist by your own petard,” the Doctor said smugly, once she'd recovered enough to notice his predicament. “As usual. Didn’t you think you might need me to knot you quite soon? I can hardly get inside you like this.” Her expression flickered for a moment at that, forehead creasing, before she returned to her theme. “You’re going to be miserable,” she prophesied, growing - if possible - even smugger.

The Master, his insides burning, seriously considered rolling her off the bed and hoping she landed on her cock. On the other hand, he needed that. Maybe her head?

“No patience,” she smirked - and of course _she_ felt better, now she’d knotted!The hypocrite. Lecturing him - him! - about patience, as if she’d ever experienced it. The Doctor must be the least focussed being he’d ever met!

Stupid with need and irritation, the Master got off the bed to drink some water, his legs shaking.“Worth it, though, to see you like that. And I can wait longer than you think,” he snapped breathlessly.

The Doctor laughed at him, infuriatingly - but suddenly her amusement cut off, expression growing dark. Following her gaze, he saw she was looking at the bottle of suppressants on his bedside table.

“No explanation as to why you broke me out,” the Doctor murmured, as if to herself, “and you wouldn’t let me bite you. When I got out of control, you did _this,_ ” glancing at her dick, “so I couldn’t knot you, and you took suppressants.” She sniffed his glass, wincing. “In _far_ too strong a dose.” Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she said, “I see. You’re willing to fuck me, but not to be contaminated - _more_ contaminated, anyway.”

“Is that it? Am I right?” There was a kind of hollow, angry triumph in her voice. Chin up, she waited for his response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, in Timeless Children they were only listening to 50% of what the other was saying (the most upsetting 50%, of course).
> 
> On next time: the Doctor takes charge...
> 
> God only knows what the Master thinks is tasteful re. beds - I was envisioning some wrought-iron monstrosity…
> 
> I know I said it would be finished by tomorrow - but it really will be completed by Friday. One day, I will work out how to write porn shorter than 10k...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And these impotent clouds leave me  
> Wet and aroused  
> But you never bring on the pain  
> Like I like

_What?_

“If you’re going to be tiresome, I can always leave,” the Master lied.

The Doctor stiffened, turning away a little and muttering, “Of course, what did I expect,” under her breath.Scrubbing shaking hands over her face, she said, “Fine. Leave. You’ve made your point. Top marks!” Smiling unpleasantly, the Doctor added, “Out of interest, does this count as me being conquered, or as witnessing one of your triumphs?” 

She laughed. “Oh, never mind. What does it matter?”

The Master stared. “What.”

Even _he_ thought this was an overreaction - and he overreacted as a vocation. The Doctor wasn’t faking, either - he could smell her scent growing sour and _wrong_ from here, distress rolling off her. His whole body twitched with the need to _make it better,_ hormones clouding his head as he tried to follow the change in conversation.

“Go on! While I’m still lucid. You’ll need a while to get the door open.”

“What _are_ you going on abou-“

“Get _out!”_ The Doctor snarled, back in full intimidate-the-enemy mode for some reason, scent harsh and acidic with rage.

Clearly, this was one of the mood swings that tended to go along with a rut. True, the Doctor had never been particularly prone to them before (they’d been far more his prerogative), but it was her first in this body - and she _had_ just been in prison.

It was, of course, entirely Doctor-like that her mood swings turned out to involve paranoia spirals and rejection, rather than the more typical possessive anger. (The Master would have quite enjoyed a bit of possessiveness.)

He’d better soothe her before she got too worked up, and the last of the drugs he’d taken wore off so he couldn’t properly manage the situation. Any denial would probably only be taken as confirmation, so time for the straightforward route.

Getting back on to the bed, the Master straddled her as she glared stonily up at him, sides heaving. He shifted deliberately, rubbing her erection and dragging a little whimper out of her, her hands fisting in the (purple) silk sheets.

“Shhh,” he said, “I’m right here, love.”

“Don’t patronise me.” The Doctor said, cold, and shoved him off, hard enough that he fell on his back, bouncing a little. She was on him in a flash, pinning him to the bed, her fingers digging into- ah, the same immobilising pressure points he’d used on her earlier.

The Master let himself go limp under her, arching his neck to offer his mating gland. That should settle her down.

Instead, the Doctor grew angrier still. “I’m surprised you’re actually willing to go through with this,” she snapped, eyes burning, teeth bared.

“Still want to slum it, now you know the awful truth? What I really am? What they did to me?” Her hands tightened ruthlessly, whole body shaking. “That I’m not what you thought? You can’t _bear_ having even a tiny piece of me in you, but you want _this?”_ She rutted against him crudely on the last word, right where he wanted her.

The Master might’ve moaned a little, because an angry Doctor (in the right setting) had always been something of a turn-on of his.

On a more concerning note, she’d clearly lost her ever-loving mind while rotting in prison. He probably shouldn’t have left her there for so long- Wait, when she’d said she was more than him, had it just been _bravado?_ Had she so firmly grasped the wrong end of the stick about what he’d told her? She _had_ seemed to believe he thought her lesser…

Wow! Could he really _be_ that lucky?

He hastily smoothed away his grin at the Doctor’s now-terrifying expression. What did she need?

If it was for him to reassure her as to her superiority, she would be waiting until the stars burnt out. He could, however, just about bear to imply that they could go on the same as before. Perhaps that was what she wanted? Just a drop of false hope.

“You wouldn’t let me have _you_ last time,” the Master pointed out reasonably. “I, however, am more generous.”

The Doctor appeared to be trying to work out if that was an insult. Judging by her scowl, she’d come up with ‘yes’. She hovered over him, scanning his face intently, clearly making up her mind. The Master waited. Last time he’d tried to push her into making a decision, he’d gone a hair too far and she’d baulked at the rein.

Abruptly, her face firmed up. “If this is a trick, it isn’t going to go the way you want,” the Doctor said, voice dark with warning, rutting against him again. “I’m going to fuck you through the mattress.”

Unusually crude, for her. The Master’s back arched, making it easier for her to get at him. “That’s not exactly a threat.“

Narrowing her eyes, the Doctor set up a slow rhythm, rocking back and forth against him. With every pass, the head of her cock, then her swollen knot, pressed at his entrance, an unbearable tease. Rather than quickening her pace, she slowed steadily, watching him writhe and gasp with dark, suspicious eyes. Waiting for him to crack.

The Master had no chance of outlasting her - she’d just knotted, and he’d had nothing.

But it was the principle of the thing. He had his pride.

But the ache inside him grew with every stroke, with every breathless hope that _this_ time, she might slip inside - until he broke. “Please,“ the Master begged, and was instantly rewarded by the slow, hot stretch of her pressing into him - and freezing almost immediately when he moaned in bliss, clenching around her.

 _Just the tip,_ he thought, deliriously. What were they, human teenagers?

“Please,” the Master repeated, scrabbling back enough control to force the word from frantic sincerity to a singsong parody. If he couldn’t help himself saying it… “Please, please, _please-“_

“Shut up,” the Doctor said, crisply, and reached down between them, doing - something. “You’ll take it and like it - like I did,” she added, and pushed her fingers against his lips. He was about to bite her when the scent hit, and his mouth opened reflexively. Slowly, she pushed two in, and the Master sucked eagerly, moaning at the taste of her wetness mingled with his release.

Then the Doctor shoved the rest in, and he was so far gone that he was happy to be filled even in this hollow way, whimpering in relief at the stimulation, rubbing his tongue against the sensitive tips of her fingers, feeling the whorls of her fingerprints.

Gently, she fucked the Master’s mouth with her fingers, cock unmoving, a cruel mockery of what he needed so badly.

“Stay still,” the Doctor told him, finally releasing her iron grip. (He’d have such _lovely_ bruises.)

Only when the Master tried to thrust down and finally get on with it, did he realise what the Doctor had done. Her compulsion had got through his shields while he was distracted, sinking deep enough that it would take concentration to wriggle out of; a sweet, continuous pressure lying over his body and mind, coaxing him to obey.

He _could_ get rid of it, but the better tactical move would be to make the Doctor feel accepted (and it felt so _good_ to just give in - at least his mind could be full of her).

Accordingly, the Master stayed perfectly, helplessly still while she shifted position - he bit back a whine at the loss of her fingers and cock - stretching out her arms and tucking a pillow under his hips.

The Doctor leant over him - and hesitated, eyes catching on the Master’s neck. She was going to bite him - and she wouldn’t hold back then. She wouldn’t be able to. Her hair was brushing his shoulder, and he trembled in anticipation, feeling the heat of her breath. She was-

“No,” she mumbled, jerking away and rubbing a hand over her mouth, and the Master exhaled sharply in frustration. Leaning down again, the Doctor kissed him hot and frantic, trembling slightly, like she was trying to distract herself.

The Master was aching, on fire, burning up from the inside, almost past caring about his dignity as she licked eagerly at his mouth, pulling his leg over her hip and aligning them

At last, the Doctor pressed back inside him, setting off a wave of utter pleasure - only to stop again, exactly the same as before, and the Master couldn’t move, couldn’t stuff himself full, couldn’t touch himself, couldn’t, _couldn’t, pleasepleaseplease-_

“Well done, Master,” the Doctor said into his mouth, her voice all warm and pleased, the manipulative bastard - and he might have been keening, but he was not, he was _not_ going to come on a bare inch of her cock and a thin, patronising scrap of praise.

He _wasn’t._

Then the Doctor pushed briskly on his shoulders, shoving him down on to her cock just a little more - not nearly enough, still so _empty_ \- and the Master did come, all at once, making awful, eager noises…and quite unable to move an inch.

 _“_ You’re so _good_ for me, Master,” the Doctor added maliciously, once he’d recovered - not even bothering to give him any more stimulation, just her voice, praising him in that _tone,_ and it dragged another orgasm out of him with a humiliated whine.

The Master’s only comfort was that the Doctor whined as well, low in the back of her throat, her hands clenching and unclenching on either side of him, rustling the sheets softly.

Thankfully, either the sight of him coming twice on her praise was enough to soothe whatever wound she’d taken to her ego from his imagined rejection, or - judging by the wrecked look and the desperate fidgeting - the Doctor couldn’t bear to wait any more. Finally she slid home, where she rightfully belonged, their sounds of relief harmonising quietly.

The Master was briefly worried she’d stop there, try (succeed at) making him beg for it again, but the Doctor had clearly lost control at last, setting up a pace that nearly made him sob, sliding into another orgasm as she shoved him insistently up the bed.

The Doctor’s mouth touched his gland again (at last!) before she inexplicably yanked away, panting, and he needed to _move;_ but her will held him down - made him just lie there and take it, made him come again and again (so good, please, never let him move again, he loved it).

The Master was just coherent enough to be thankful he couldn’t talk right now.

Her knot was grinding firmly against his clit and vulva every time her thrust finished, sending pleasure shooting through him - and there was something wrong about that, but it felt so amazing it was hard to work out what. Then the Doctor was coming inside him at last, flopping over him bonelessly, and it felt _wonderful,_ cooling and soothing, but - wait, why hadn’t she-?

The weight of her compulsion broken with her orgasm, the Master bore down determinedly against her knot, making a frustrated sound when he realised it was already fully engaged, just as stuck _outside_ him as it should by rights be stuck _inside._

The Doctor groaned, climaxing again from his desperate clenching and grinding and shoving her knot against his clit until the Master came as well - her come already leaking out of him, wasted, her knot not doing its office.

This way, he’d stay out of his mind no matter how many times the Doctor made him come - only knotting brought relief in a heat.

He tried again, locking his legs around her hips and _pulling-_

“It won’t fit,” the Doctor chided, lips twitching. The Master’s utter humiliation had apparently cheered her up. Or - more likely - coming all over him had soothed her instincts. “Told you you’d hate it.”

“Make it fit,” the Master snarled. “Force it - I don’t care if it hurts.”

 _“Typical,”_ she muttered, then said in a normal tone, “just stay still -” the Doctor hesitated, then continued with a faint, evil smirk, “- like a good Omega, and after half an hour or so you can have what you want.”

Oh, he was going to get her for this. _“Or so?”_

“Well, the longest it’s ever been for me is slightly over an hour. I think the problem we might run into is you.”

_“Me?”_

The Doctor shrugged. “You keep smelling desperate and begging, I get hard for you, it keeps my knot engaged.”

“Hit it with a pencil or something,” the Master suggested.

“Haven’t got a pencil - and no, _you_ can’t hit it. Can you restrain yourself?”

“I can hold out better than you,” he said, through gritted teeth.

* * *

Twenty minutes later the Master was gasping and begging again, feeling like he was burning alive. The Doctor first used her mouth on him for long enough to return him to temporary lucidity, then tried - and failed - to seek outside aid.

“Really? _Nothing_ except these?” She slammed the drawer of his bedside table shut, and waved the only contents - disposable gloves - at him.

“I told you, I only just got this Tardis - after you _stole_ mine, so you can’t really complain about the lack of sex toys. I had to take those,” the Master nodded at the gloves, “from the infirmary.”

“Not even lube?”

“I’m an Omega,” the Master pointed out. “What would I do with it? If anything, I’m crying out for towels.”

“Ah well,” the Doctor sighed, pulling a glove on, ”make do and mend.”

Pushing four gloved fingers inside him, the Doctor wiggled them around, wetting them thoroughly (the Master yelped), before pressing her index finger firmly against his anus. It sank in easily, the slight muscle relaxant of his heat helping, as did the slick trickling steadily down from his cunt.

Slowly, she added another, then when he moaned, pressing down eagerly, a third.

“You’ve been doing this to yourself,” the Doctor said, watching raptly as he swallowed her up.

“What did you - _ah_ \- think I used the gloves for?” The Master said, hips rolling as he fucked himself on her fingers.

“Come on,” the Doctor said, pulling him up and propping herself up on pillows, “get on my lap.”

Sinking down on her, the Master moaned in delight.

“That’s - tight,” the Doctor said, breathless, clutching his hip with her free hand.

“Happy to provide satisfaction,” the Master retorted absently. Rocking back and forth on the Doctor’s cock with three fingers buried deep in his arse wasn’t _quite_ like being knotted - it didn’t press where he needed it - but it was far, far better than before. He almost felt _full_ at last.

When they’d both come - and oh, it was good, almost satisfying, the haze receding a little - the Master leant his forehead against hers, calm enough to really enjoy the reassuring caress of the Doctor’s mind all around him- Oh.

Fuck.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“All the surface thoughts from you giving into my compulsion on.” The Doctor turned back from discarding the glove, not _visibly_ gloating, which must’ve taken a real effort.

If he hadn’t been able to feel her knot softening, the Master might’ve tried to rip them apart; wall her out. But the separation would only set her off again, wasting this chance. At least if she was knotting him they would either be sane together or desperate together - much less chance of revealing something unfortunate or embarrassing.

So he waited, patiently. The second she’d shrunk enough to fit, the Master slammed his hips down on hers, squirming until - “Aah!” - her knot popped inside him.

“If you’d waited another minute-!” The Doctor panted, trembling, her fingers in his hair and eyes fixed on his neck.

“No,” the Master snapped, rocking, the pain already gone, head filling with a white noise of bliss. She was swelling to fit him already, so perfect for him - she was even (probably) an Alpha for him, so she could give him this-

She tugged on his hair and his head tipped, exposing his mating gland. The Doctor whimpered, hand on his hip, urging him to move faster.

“Don't do it, don't-“ the Doctor cut off, moaning. Lunging forward, she sucked his gland, worrying it insistently between her teeth until the Master came. Then she clamped down and marked him, bringing him off again with a yell.

Her mind entered his, pressing deep, a blissful echo of the intrusion of her body and teeth. _Minemineminemine,_ the Doctor’s voice whispered at the edge of his mental hearing, and the Master laughed, coming in another wave.

The second the Doctor released him, his mouth was on her neck, getting her ready. He sucked slowly, making her wait as long as he could bear, listening to her keen and feeling her come.

Then the Master’s teeth were in her, the taste of the Doctor’s blood sharp and familiar on his tongue as she screamed for him, his name sweet in her mouth and mind, their consciousnesses intertwining in a too-brief moment of perfect harmony.

Sighing in happy satisfaction, the Master let himself flop forward against her and the pillows, humming as the Doctor started to lick the blood off his neck. He grinned at the way she kept coming back to nuzzle at her claiming bite.

He’d never minded the concept of _mutual_ ownership. It was the thought of her having it all her own way that had been unbearable.

“Sorry,” the Doctor murmured apologetically against the wound, slicing through his warm, relaxed contentment like a laser saw.

He quivered with rage.

 _“Sorry?_ Why are you _sorry,”_ the Master hissed, scrabbling upright to face her. “What have you got to be _sorry_ about?”

“I’m sorry I bit you,” the Doctor answered, and he could feel her surprise at his reaction. The Master had enough time to seriously consider ripping their bodies apart and leaving, never mind the pain, he’d heal, before she continued, “You said not to.”

Oh. Right. He went limp against her again, her hair tickling the side of his face. “I said ‘later’, not never.”

“Good.” The Doctor kissed him, slow and firm. Possessive. (He liked it.)

 _What was all that earlier?_ The Master sent down their renewed bond, not really expecting a response.

But the Doctor was clearly too hopped up on hormones and pleasure to prevent him seeing the answer - words came out of her in a flood, stumbling over each other.

 _I thought you were just taunting me, at first - you kept coming, and touching me, and it seemed like you liked it - then leaving as if nothing had happened._ ’Here I am, but I don’t want you anymore.’ _You even locked me up_ away _from you, when I could smell how much you needed it. It_ hurt. _But I still couldn’t make myself go. And then I thought, I thought - you were really going to leave, or kick me out, and I lost it._

Her grip tightened suffocatingly at the thought.Then she added under her breath, “Shut _up,_ Doctor,” and kissed him harder, as if hoping to distract him from any other revelations that might slip out.

The motion of the Doctor clutching at him moved her knot inside him, rubbing wonderfully, and it turned out that the Master _really_ liked the idea of the Doctor, desperate and needy, suffering, thinking he didn’t want her - it brought him off again almost instantly, crying out into her mouth.

She laughed, a little angry. “I might’ve known you’d get off on the thought of making me unhappy.”

“Mmm,” the Master said, dazed, her grip still tight. “Clingy."

“After your heat, you can wash me right out of your hair if you want,” the Doctor promised, ridiculously.She’d just rebound them on a chemical level - both of them permanently altered ‘till they regenerated. And beyond.

“You’ll be off in three days, then?” He wasn’t letting her get too confident.

“Mmm,” the Doctor said, face mashed against him. He could feel her smile. “You do realise that this heat is going to last far too long after you OD’d like that? A week or something hideous like that.”

“You’re one to talk. Generally I can smell the suppressants coming before the rest of you- Ah. Personal experience?”

“Several times,” she said wryly, and the Master laughed.

“You’ll be off in a week, then?”

“Probably.” The Doctor kissed him again, biting gently, until he was moaning and rocking on her again. “Probably.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omegas: Nature’s lube dispensers? Discuss.
> 
> Honestly, the Doctor probably would've ended up doing better psychologically if she'd run into the Master again after prison, rather than the Daleks.
> 
> There will (eventually) be more in this vein...but it will take quite a while, as I am a *slow* writer.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently working on another fic in this vein, (not a sequel/prequel) set while the Doctor's in prison - and I'm still undecided whether to flip their designations or keep them the same as in this. 
> 
> So I'm willing to put it to a vote in the comments if anyone has an opinion either way!


End file.
